


Untouchable

by dementorsatemysoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder Mystery, On Hiatus, Psychic Stiles Stilinski, Psychic Violence, Slow Burn Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dementorsatemysoup/pseuds/dementorsatemysoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Hales hire town psychic Stiles Stilinski to help them find their sister's killer, Stiles doesn't realize just how dangerous his life's about to become.</p>
<p>((AKA I wanted to write Psychic Stiles, so I did))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I have no clue where this came from, but it's an idea that's been bugging me for quite some time. So, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter, and I'll try to update soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, if you can, drop me a comment.
> 
> Bye!!

Here’s the thing, Stiles cannot commune with the dead nor can he see into the future. Those are the facts. Grandma is never going to tell him where the inheritance money is, and do not, for one second, ask if he can give you the lottery numbers. He will make up numbers, you will most likely lose, and he does not need another angry, 2 a.m. phone call, bitching about how his ‘screwy’ gift fucked up so-and-so’s chances of getting rich quick. It’s not his fault some people can’t pay attention.

Stiles has had his gift since his mom died. He vaguely remembered his mother using the same gift to help the odd neighbor, mostly locating missing items for them, but occasionally his father would catch wind of a particularly difficult case, and he’d ask Stiles’ mom for help. They made a fairly good team. Of course, his mother could also control the gift. Stiles, even after almost fifteen years with the damn thing, still could barely control it.

Stiles has, what paranormal experts call, psychometric abilities (or he gets psychic readings by touching people or items that have been well-loved). At eight, he could tell his father exactly what he was feeling just by touching the older man’s hand. At twelve, he accidentally got a teacher fired for making an offhanded comment about alcohol hidden in his bottom drawer. At sixteen, he attempted the feat of losing his virginity, only to end up locked in the bathroom, bleeding heavily from his nose, apologizing over and over for something that had happened ten years ago, and _not_ to him.

It had been difficult going through school, harder still to even leave his apartment, and for a while he actually, silently, cursed his mother’s family for giving him this stupid ability, but eventually he learned to live with it. He wore sleeves and gloves out in public, avoided physical contact as much as he could, and otherwise gave up on the notion of having a love life.

It’s only recently that he followed in his mother’s footsteps and started using his abilities to help people. He put an ad in the paper, making it seem like he’s a private investigator (which, technically, he is), adding at the bottom that he’d find what the police could not (something his dad didn’t appreciate, but Stiles had to get his business somewhere).

Mostly, he dealt with (surprise, surprise) inheritances and who Mommy and Daddy liked better. He didn’t mind, whiny, rich people paid well and he didn’t have to interact with them for very long. Plus, it’s not too bad, getting flashes of little old ladies playing bridge or wrinkly, wizened old men sitting at the park, playing chess. Sometimes he’d even come across an adventurer or two, but those were rare and usually left him with a bit of a headache afterward.

Despite the occasional late night phone calls and the rare headaches, Stiles actually thinks he can make a living out of helping ungrateful, trust fund brats. It’s easy, they usually tend to pay him regardless of if they believe him or not, and he doesn’t actually leave his apartment much to spend the money frivolously, so he’s doing quite well for himself, even at twenty-three. That is until the Hales enter his life.

It starts on a Tuesday. Scott, his roommate and best friend, left the morning paper sitting on the counter. Stiles will not touch the paper. He’s pretty sure he won’t see anything, but he doesn’t want to take any chances, so he just hovers over it while he reads it, eating cereal from Scott’s Garfield bowl, shaking his head as he relives, yet again, the day Allison gave Scott the bowl:

_“But I love Mondays,”_ _Scott said with a small pout._

_“No one likes Mondays, Scott," Allison stated matter-of-factly, a small smile on her face. She loved it when Scott got all pouty, he always looked so cute._

_“But I do,” Scott insisted crossing his arms. “Deaton doesn’t come in until noon, so I get the entire office to myself. I almost feel like a real vet.”_

_“You are a real vet…”_

The memory continues from there, but Stiles is slowly learning to block Scott and Allison out, so he just ignores the images lingering in the back of his mind, his eyes scanning the front page story:

_Local Mechanic Found Dead In Home_

_Laura Hale, age thirty, was found dead yesterday morning, in her home. Cause of death is an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound. No word yet on how long she had been dead before her body was discovered. Laura Hale is survived by her two younger siblings Derek and Cora, a cousin in England, and an uncle. This is not the first tragedy to strike the Hale family, beloved mayor Talia Hale and her husband Nathan died thirteen years ago in a house fire… continue on page 3B._

Stiles looks up from the story, carrying his bowl to the sink. He remembers the Hale fire, his dad spending countless hours on the case, only to find out the middle child’s girlfriend had been behind it. Kate Argent, rambunctious daughter of Talia Hale’s competitor Gerard Argent, set the house on fire in hopes of helping her father win the election. Not only did her plan fail, a blind man named Deucalion easily winning the race, but it left Kate with a life sentence in prison and her father unable to run for office again.

It also left Allison and her dad ostracized by most of the town. The town had loved Talia, would have probably kept electing her as mayor for as long as they could, and to the town Chris and Allison deserve the same fate as Kate. Which is a load of crap, if anyone bothers to ask Stiles, because Allison is all smiles and dimples and niceness (with the added bonus of being able to roundhouse kick your head off), and her father, while a little intimidating, isn’t actually _that_ bad. Plus, Stiles has heard stories about Allison’s late mother, Victoria, and he’d take Chris any day.

Stiles is rinsing his bowl out when someone knocks on his door. He glances at his watch, wondering who needs his help today (he’s banking on a middle-aged woman needing help finding her ratty dog), and crosses the room to open the door, drying his hands on his t-shirt.

However, standing in the threshold is not a middle-aged woman, and Stiles doubts she’s looking for a ratty dog. She’s around Stiles’ age, with dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail and brown eyes. She’s a bit shorter than him, pretty and pale, but she also seems like she could probably kick his ass if she wanted to, and there’s probably not much he could do about it.

“Hello,” Stiles greets forgoing a handshake, stepping aside to let the woman inside. “I usually don’t take clients until eleven, but I’ll make an exception for today.” She enters Stiles’ apartment, looking around with an unimpressed look on her face, her nose wrinkling slightly.

“What can I help you with?” Stiles presses, closing the door, moving towards his couch. He gestures for the woman to sit, taking at seat on the coffee table. “I’d offer you something to drink, but we’ve only got grape soda or three day old milk.”

“I’m fine,” the woman says softly, underlying disdain in her voice, and reluctantly sinks onto the couch.

“Alright,” Stiles answers nodding. “So, tell me, what can I do for you?” This woman doesn’t remind Stiles of his usual clients, in fact there’s something oddly familiar about her, so the brunet is having a hard time trying to figure out just what, exactly, this mystery woman needs.

“I was told you help people find things,” the girl states, resting her arms on her thighs, hands curled into fists. “My brother thinks this is nuts, but I just..." She sucks in a deep breath, softly continuing, "The cops can’t help us."

“Alright, tell me what you need.” Stiles leans forward, being very careful not to touch the woman. “I’m sure I can find whatever it is, and if I can’t then I should probably ask for my money back because my ability is just as useless as that juicer I bought last week.”

“It’s not a ‘what,’” the woman mutters catching Stiles by surprise, ignoring his jesting (which doesn’t really surprise him. She doesn’t seem like a jokester). “It’s a who.”

“A who?” It’s very, very rare that anyone asks Stiles to track down a who. In fact, the last person he tracked down had been dead three years. “Well, who then?”

“My sister’s killer.”

While finding people is rare, willingly seeking out murderers is not on Stiles’ list of skills. He had only found one murderer, one time, and it hadn’t even been a person. A stray dog had killed three house cats before Stiles tracked it down, and Scott and Deaton had to euthanize it. It had been Stiles’ last murder case. Plus, he had promised his dad, that if he were to take the private investigator route, he would avoid any cases that were deemed too dangerous. And, this is just a wild guess, but tracking down a murderer is probably number one on his father's list of dangerous things. Plus, Stiles quite liked his life, despite how shitty it's been thus far, and he didn't feel like waking up with his throat cut.

“I don’t know…” Stiles starts, but he trails off when he notices the fierce determination and a hint of desperation in the woman’s eyes. He feels his resolve slip just a tad. “Who’s your sister?”

“Laura Hale,” the woman answers after a brief pause. She bitterly adds, “She didn't commit suicide despite what the papers say. It’s a load of bullshit and everyone knows it, and Derek can tell me you’re a fraud all he wants, but I don’t exactly trust the police right now.”

“Alright, I’ll choose to ignore Derek,” Stiles states with a huff. He gives Cora, who he figures this woman must be, a kind smile, and carefully asks, “How sure are you that Laura didn’t kill herself?”

“Because she wouldn’t do that,” Cora snaps lashing out, shoving Stiles back roughly. The moment her hands make contact with his body, Stiles catches a fleeting memory:

_“It’s just us, kiddo,” a pretty, petite brunette said comfortingly, dropping down to sit next to an eleven-year-old Cora. “Me, you, and Derek.”_

_“What about Uncle Peter,” Cora asked softly, her hands clenched around her drawn knees, her eyes dry but red._

_“Cor, we don’t even know if Uncle Peter…”_

_“Don’t, Laura, don’t,” Cora snapped getting to her feet. “H-he’s going to be fine. He… he has to be fine. I can’t…” she half-sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand, willing herself not to cry. “I-I can’t…” a single tear managed to escape, sliding down her face._

_“Oh, Cora.” Laura stood up, quickly closing the few inches separating her from her sister, wrapping her arms around the younger girl. “I’ll never leave you. I promise you.”_

Stiles snaps out of the vision, his hands shaking slightly, a small twinge behind his left eye. He’s breathing heavily, eyes on Cora, blinking rapidly to clear his blurry vision from the residual emotions from the memory. He takes a shaky breath, followed by another, and coughs, deciding he can, at the very least, try to help this family. “D-do you have anything of Laura’s?”

“What?” Cora gives him a wary look, her hands hovering over his chest. He can tell she’s not sure what has just happened, but she quickly realizes he’s going to help her and doesn’t wait for an explanation. She pulls her hands away from him, pulling a silver chain from around her neck, two wedding rings dangling from the end.

“What do you need this for?” Cora asks suspiciously, not relinquishing the necklace.

“I need to see if I can pick up Laura’s last minutes,” Stiles states quietly, forcing himself to keep looking at Cora. A flash of sorrow flickers in her eyes, followed by bitter anger, but she finally nods, letting the chain drop into Stiles’ open palm:

_“…heard Derek has a girlfriend,” Nathan Hale said, his head resting in his wife’s lap, his eyes half-closed as she ran her fingers through his hair. “What do you know about this girl?”_

_“Not much,” Talia Hale replied softly. “He doesn’t tell me anything anymore. I still remember when he was six, and he’d come home from school and tell me about his day.” She sighed sadly, her fingers stilling in her husband’s hair. “Why do kids grow up so fast?”_

_“To torture us,” Nathan joked and Talia gave him a brittle smile. He returned it, and she leaned down to kiss his lips. When they broke apart, Talia resumed her grooming while Nathan nonchalantly commented, “So, Laura asked me about borrowing the car today.”_

_“I already told her no,” Talia replied shaking her head. “I swear that girl just likes causing trouble. Next thing you’ll know, she’ll have one of us convinced she’s getting married to that Parrish boy…”_

_“Hey, he’s a decent enough boy. I mean, compared to that Adrian Harris fellow, I’d take Parrish any day.”_

_“He rides a motorcycle.” Talia wrinkled her nose at the idea._

_“He also wants to serve his country, Tal. I mean, he’s basically Captain America.” Nathan grinned at his own joke, and Talia snorted, shaking her head. “Just give him a…” shattering glass startled them, and Nathan sat up quickly, pushing himself to his feet. Talia copied him, both moving towards the noise, finding their front window broken, a thick tree branch laying among the glass._

_"Do you think it's from that old willow?" Talia wondered aloud, squinting out the window._

_"I don't..." Nathan hissed when his socked foot stepped on a piece of glass, stabbing into his flesh._ _“Fuck,” he muttered just as the lights flickered and died, enveloping the room into darkness. Nathan looked towards the basement, wondering if a fuse blew._

_“Stay here,” he whispered to his wife, already heading towards the basement. He barely had the door open when he heard a creak behind him. Turning, Talia stood inches from him, her face blank. “What…?" She shoved him, knocking him down the stairs…_

A frantic voice is calling his name, and Stiles groans peeling heavy eyelids open. Cora Hale hovers over him, concern in her eyes, her sister’s necklace held firmly in her left hand. She gives Stiles a questioning look, her hand hovering over him, unsure whether it’s safe to help him up.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says softly, sitting up, rubbing his aching elbow. He must have cracked it on the edge of the coffee table when he fell off it. “How long was I out?”

“Maybe five minutes,” Cora answered sitting back on her heels. She’s quiet for a few seconds, but finally whispers, “What did you see?”

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, knowing he’s stalling. He sucks in a deep breath, waits another few seconds, and decides to answer Cora’s question with another question. “Can you get me into Laura’s place?”

“What?” Cora’s eyebrows furrow, a flicker of anger crossing her face. “Why do you need to get into her house?”

“That,” he points at the necklace, “didn’t help me. I’m sure, if I tried a bit harder, I could get something, but it’ll be a lot easier if I could get access to her things.” He isn't sure why he's not telling Cora what he saw, but he still files it away for later. The information could be useful in the future.

Eyeing him cautiously, Cora stands, looking down at her sister’s necklace. “You’re not going to do something weird like try on her clothes, are you? Maybe eat her food?”

“No.” He only did the latter one once, and the client had said ‘help yourself.’ How the hell was he supposed to know the guy just meant get a drink? Stiles wanted a sandwich, he hadn’t eaten all day, and the dude hadn’t exactly been Mr. Entertaining.

After a moment's hesitation, Cora nods and starts towards the door. “Keep up,” she says over her shoulder. “I haven’t got all day.” Stiles chases after her, grabbing his jacket off the back of the door. He shrugs it on, pulling his fingerless gloves out of his pocket, and makes sure to lock the door behind him before pulling them on, calling, "You have a car, right? I only have a bike."

* * *

Laura Hale lived in the nicer part of town. Her house is small, olive green, with a porcelain gnome sitting in the front yard. Stiles looks at the gnome with an amused smile, remembering a similar one his grandmother used to have, but where his grandma’s looked like he’d been gardening, Laura’s has its tongue sticking out and one hand raised as if he’s waving.

“She made that,” Cora comments leading Stiles to the front door. “She named him Charles Gnomerson. Derek hates him.” She unlocks the door, opening it and letting Stiles in first, hesitating briefly before following him over the threshold. “Uh, she, uh…” Cora stays by the door, her hands clenched at her side, trying hard to keep her face impassive but failing miserably. “I haven’t exactly been here since…” she trails off, sniffing. “Well, you know.”

“I get it,” Stiles reassures her with a smile, slowly walking around the living room. It’s cluttered, books piled on the end table, DVDs sitting on top of the TV, the remote half-buried in the couch cushions. Shoes sit by the couch, almost as if they were kicked off absentmindedly, and a pair of reading glasses dangled off the arm of an armchair. Photographs cover the wall, Stiles recognizes Cora, Laura, and their parents in most, but he catches sight of another man in half of them.

“Is this your brother?”

“Yeah,” Cora answers nodding. “That’s Derek.”

“Huh.” Stiles vaguely remembers Derek from school. He had been five years ahead of him, and used to play basketball. His dad took him and Scott to a few of the games, and Stiles used to wish he could play basketball, too, but with his gift he couldn’t exactly play any sports. “He’s kinda hot.”

“He’s also about as emotionally constipated as you can get,” Cora grumbles crossing her arms. “But I’d be too if…” she looks away from Stiles, glaring at the floor, and a tense silence settles over the room.

Stiles busies himself with checking out the photos, trailing his fingers over a photo of a younger Cora, Laura, and Derek:

_“Stand still, guys,” Talia said, holding a camera in her hands, giving her kids an exasperated look._

_“Mom, tell Cora to stop poking me,” a thirteen-year-old Derek grumbled, moving away from his sister, fighting the urge to push her down. She giggled, jabbing her finger into his side again. “Mom!”_

_“Coraline Hale, knock it off,” Talia scolded and Cora pouted, glaring at the ground._

_“Don’t worry, Cor,” Laura started with a small smirk on her face. “Derek just needs to pull that stick out of his ass…”_

_“Laura…”_

Stiles shakes the memory away, moving away from the photo and turning back to Cora. “Where did your sister sleep?”

Cora has one eyebrow raised, clearly wondering what, exactly, Stiles had seen, but she doesn’t ask, instead nodding her head down the hallway. “Our uncle…” Cora draws in a deep breath, trying again. “Our Uncle Peter found her on her bed…” she swallows, drawing in another, much shakier, breath. “The police, as you know, ruled it a suicide, so you don’t have to worry about contaminating anything.” There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone, clearly she doesn’t trust the Beacon Hills PD, and Stiles’ first reaction is to defend them because his dad’s the sheriff and he’s a good son (usually). But Cora is a potential client, so he refrains, though it takes some effort, and just nods.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asks curiously, noting the way Cora keeps glancing towards her sister’s bedroom, anxiety in her eyes. “I can go alone…”

“No.” She shakes her head once, sucks in a breath, and determinedly walks down the hall. Stiles quickly follows her, willing himself to breath. He doesn't do well around blood, and he can’t seem to be able to shake the image of Laura’s room having blood splattered walls and a stained bedspread. Maybe brain matter on the ceiling…

_Oh my God, shut the hell up,_ he snaps at himself, forcing the images away, nearly running into Cora. She’s standing in her sister’s doorway, her face paper white, both hands gripping either side of the doorframe. She appears to be shaking, her breath coming in quick gasps, and she’s whispering, “I-I can’t… I can’t do this…” She turns, almost knocking Stiles back a step, and says, “Call me if… I just…” she races away, disappearing around the corner, leaving Stiles alone.

He takes several deep breaths, forcing himself to remain calm, and slowly walks into Laura’s room. Someone had been by to clean up the blood, her blankets and sheets missing, the wall behind the bed seemingly more cleaner than the rest of the room. She has more books scattered on the floor, clothes spill out from her closet, and her computer sits, untouched, on her cluttered desk, a _Florence and the Machine_  sticker stuck to it. Stiles finds himself liking Laura more and more.

He pulls one of his gloves off, stuffing it in his pocket, and begins walking slowly around the room. He finds another photo of the Hale siblings on Laura’s bedside table, an alarm clock glowing 10:38 sitting next to it. He lets his hand skim over the clock:

_“Here,” Derek grumbled shoving the clock at his sister. “It doesn’t play music.”_

_“I see you went all out this year, baby bro,” Laura answered with a sarcastic smile, glancing down at the clock._

_“You set the price limit,” Derek argued crossing his arms defiantly._

_“And only you, Der-Bear, wouldn’t exceed the price limit.” Laura grinned at the glare Derek threw her, clutching the clock to her chest._

_“Shut up.”_

Stiles moves his hand away from the clock, picking up the book sitting on the floor next to her bed:

_“Only Peter would make his sister’s biography an autobiography,” Derek muttered with an eye roll, silently fuming at the grinning photo of his uncle on the back of the book._

_“Der, no one asked you to read the damn book,” Laura said softly, reaching for the book._

_“I already did,” he grumbled letting her take it. “It’s stupid, inaccurate, and if I see him again I’m going to throttle him.”_

Stiles puts the book down, walking deeper into the room. He let his fingers ghost across the sticker on Laura’s computer:

_“I got you this,” Jordan Parrish said quietly, a little shyly, as he handed Laura the sticker. “I wanted to buy you a t-shirt, but they had run out. Which must mean they’re doing pretty good, selling out all their t-shirts.”_

_“A sticker? For me?” Laura teased taking the sticker from him, a smile on her face. “Thank you.”_

_“I know you like the band, and since you couldn’t come to the concert with me…” Jordan trailed off, biting his lip. “Are you feeling any better?”_

_“Now that you’re here. I’m fine.” Jordan leaned over to kiss Laura, but she pressed her hand to his chest, half-heartedly holding him back. “I’m all germy.”_

_“I don’t care,” he said and pressed his lips to hers._

He still felt lingering bits of love in his chest when Stiles shook off the memory. He knows Jordan Parrish, his dad hiring the former marine a year ago at the police station. Since Stiles usually avoided the public, he hadn’t spent a lot of time talking to Parrish, so he didn’t know he and Laura were a couple until today. He wonders if they were still together, and he makes a mental note to track down Deputy Parrish, see what he thinks about Laura’s death.

Finally, Stiles turns towards Laura’s bed. He’s been stalling, avoiding her bed for as long as he can, but he knows he can’t keep reliving Laura’s good memories. He has to help Cora, he made a commitment to her, and if Laura’s bed, the place where her body had been found ( _and oh my god, I am in a dead person’s house_ ) could help, Stiles had to at least try to get something useful off it. He steps forward, raising one shaky hand, wrapping his fingertips around the frame of the bed.

_Laura let herself into her house, the paper bag in her hand crinkling as she fumbled with her keys, pulling them from the lock. With some maneuvering, she closed the door and hung her keys up, kicking her shoes off. She headed into the kitchen, dropping the bag of takeout onto the counter, flipping_ _on_ _the light over the sink._

_She turned, finding a silly drawing from Jordan on her fridge, a small smile spreading across her lips. He had asked her to marry him last night, and she said she’d think about it, but she’s seriously considering saying yes. They’ve been together since senior year, made it through Laura’s parents dying, even managed to get through Jordan’s two tours overseas, and Laura wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with him._

_She heard a knock at the door, something akin to unease settling in her stomach, and she slowly stepped away from the counter, heading back into the living room. When she opened the door, her eyes narrowed, and she said, “I’ve been expecting you.”_

“What the hell are you doing?” a gruff, familiar voice demanded yanking Stiles from the vision. He felt a hand clamp down on his shoulders, his body automatically transported into another vision:

_“He’s behind this, Der,” Laura said, irritated by her brother's lack of support, frantically pacing back and forth across his apartment floor. “I know he is, but I just can’t prove it.”_

_“Laur, we’ve talked about this. How could he possibly be behind it?” Derek gave his sister a tired look, having heard the same accusations a dozen times already._

_“You still don’t believe me? You spent half your life hating the guy, and now you've taken his side? I thought you, of all people, would believe me Derek. Especially after all the stories Mom used to tell us” She glared at her brother, jabbing a finger into his chest when he opened his mouth to speak. “Shut up, Derek. Just shut up. You don’t want to believe me, fine. I’ll figure this out all on my own.”_

_Before Derek could protest, Laura stormed out of his apartment, slamming the door behind her…_

Stiles is wrenched violently from the vision, his vision graying at the edges, blackness rapidly engulfing him, and the last thing he remembers is a pair of arms catching him before he hits the floor.


	2. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All mistakes are mine, thanks for the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions last chapter, and please drop me a comment if you have the time.
> 
> Thanks for being so patient, I know this took a bit to update, and I'm going to try (I stress TRY) to update a lot quicker next time.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Derek doesn’t know the brunet sitting at his sister’s kitchen table, not personally, but he has seen his ad in the paper. It’s a crock of shit, all this psychic bull crap, and Derek doesn’t understand why Cora would bring this complete stranger to Laura’s place.

“Do you need a hospital?” Cora asks the guy curiously, bringing him a glass of water.

“Nah, I’m fine,” the guy reassures her, accepting the glass. He takes careful sips, his whiskey colored eyes settling on Derek. “Sorry about passing out on you,” he starts giving Derek a shaky smile. “I’ve never been really good at controlling this stupid ability. Jumping from one vision to another is a bit overwhelming to my brain which is saying a lot because there’s a lot going on up there.” He points at his head with his free hand, taking another drink of water. “I’m Stiles by the way.”

“I kinda figured,” Derek states drily, crossing his arms. He turns to Cora and demands, “What’s he doing here?”

“Since you won’t do a goddamn thing and the cops are useless, I decided to take matters into my own hands.” She gestures to Stiles, who’s draining the water in one gulp, and continues, “He’s been more helpful in the half an hour I’ve known him than anyone has been since Laura…” she trails off, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. “I just need answers, Derek.”

It’s like a kick to the chest, hearing his sister’s voice sound so broken. Cora has always been the strongest out of the Hale siblings, always keeping a level head, and it’s rare to see her this way. Derek hates it, hates it more than he will ever admit, but he also knows that his sister needs to stop obsessing over this because Derek already lost one sister. He wasn’t losing another.

“Cor…”

“Stop it,” she snaps narrowing her eyes, a determined look on her face. “Laura did not…” she draws in a shaky breath, trying again. “Laura did not kill herself, Derek. She didn’t, and you know it just as much as I do.”

“She’s not wrong,” Stiles adds before Derek could respond.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek turns his attention to Stiles, his eyebrows raised skeptically. “Did you ‘ _see’_ it with your ‘ _visions’?”_

_“_ Nobody likes a skeptic, Derek,” Stiles states with a deadpan stare. He then turns his attention to Cora, his eyes softening, and says, “She had a visitor the night she died.”

“Who?” Cora asks uncrossing her arms, sparing her brother a quick look before her eyes flick back to Stiles.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits running a hand through his hair. “Before I could see their face _somebody,”_ he turns his whiskey eyes to Derek again, “pulled me from the vision.”

“This is complete bullshit,” Derek mutters but he knows Cora’s not listening.

“Can you go back in? See if you can get a look at their face?” Cora may be determined to find answers, but Derek isn’t about to let some con-artist fuck with her. So, before Stiles can reply, Derek crosses the room in six quick strides, grabs the guy from under the arms, and yanks him to his feet.

He realizes this isn’t the best decision when Stiles’ eyes roll back into his head, much like they did when Derek touched him earlier, and his body goes slack, deadweight in the taller man’s arms. In surprise, Derek drops Stiles back into his chair, taking a giant step back, and watches as the guy slowly comes back.

“Wow, you really do not like your uncle,” Stiles comments slowly sitting up, kneading his forehead with the heel of his palm. “Granted, I don’t exactly like him either.”

“What did you see?” Cora asks curiously, waving her hand when Derek tries to speak.

“Peter?” Stiles waits for confirmation (Cora’s little nod) before continuing. “Peter wants to do all of the arrangements for Laura’s funeral, but Derek doesn’t agree with any of his decisions.” Stiles locks eyes with Derek, silently asking the older man to confirm or deny this conversation, but Derek stubbornly refuses to acknowledge it even if the guy’s _not_ wrong.

They’d just had this conversation this morning. Peter wants to have Laura buried in the family plot, but his sister had always wanted her ashes scattered into the ocean (something Derek knows isn’t legal, but that’s what Laura wanted). And Peter wants to invite the _entire_ Hale/Salinger clan, but Laura hated half their family and Derek doesn’t think his sister should have to be laid to rest surrounded by people she didn’t like. There was also the argument about whether or not they should invite Jordan (Peter is against it, Derek for it). It’s a clusterfuck that left Derek wanting to strangle his uncle.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Stiles presses when Derek still doesn’t _say_ anything. “Look, believe me or don’t, but I’m actually trying to help you. I didn’t know Laura personally…”

“You’re damn right you didn’t,” Derek muttered through clenched teeth.

“…but from what I’ve learned, she was a pretty cool person, and there’s no fucking _way_ she took her own life,” Stiles continues completely ignoring Derek comment. “Look,” the guy looks between Cora and Derek, making sure they’re both listening, “this is me taking the job. I _do_ want to help, but you two clearly need to talk.” He starts towards the door, being careful _not_ to touch anything, adding over his shoulder, “You know where to find me.” Cora gives her brother a ‘don’t let him walk away’ look, and Derek feels his resolve slip.

He doesn’t want to believe this guy. He _really_ does not want to believe him, but he also knows Cora is right. Laura would never commit suicide. She would never abandon him and Cora, wouldn’t break promises she made years ago. _Not_ Laura. But he also doesn’t need some ‘psychic’ butting into their business either.

He waits until the front door closes before rounding on Cora. “What the hell were you thinking?” She glares at him but doesn’t say anything. “He’s a fraud…”

“A fraud that has been right so far,” Cora argues jabbing a finger in the direction Stiles had disappeared. “He’s our best chance at figuring out what happened to Laura.”

“Cor, I understand, but hiring a complete stranger…”

Cora lets out a frustrated breath, storming out of the room, and Derek knows the conversation is over. He runs a palm down his face, sinking into a chair. Laura had always been more capable of handling their little sister. Derek generally stayed out of the way.

He really misses his big sister.

* * *

Stiles is standing by the front door, waiting for the Hale siblings to finish up their conversation, when his eyes fall on the gnome again. Charles Gnomerson, if he remembers correctly. Slowly, he walks towards the gnome, not exactly sure what he’s doing, and crouches down next to it. He hesitates for a brief moment before reaching out, running his fingers down the gnome’s face, and instantly gets sucked into another vision:

_“That is just terrible,”_ _Laura said with a grin, looking over at Jordan’s attempt at a vase._

_“It’s a work-in-progress,” Jordan retorted, his lip turned up, amused. He glanced over at Laura’s project, letting out a low whistle. “This is why you’re the more creative one in this relationship.”_

_“I think I’m going to call him Charles Gnomerson,”_ _Laura replied fixing the clay gnome’s hat. “Derek will hate this thing. He used to be deathly afraid of garden gnomes when he was a kid.”_

_“I have a feeling you’re the reason why.”_

_“I am not.” Laura gave Jordan a faux-hurt face, but she’s unable to hold it, her face breaking into a grin. “Alright, so I told him they were forming a secret army to take over the world. It’s not my fault he believed me.”_

_“And how old was he?”_

_“Seven.”_

“Hey,” a voice calls, snapping Stiles from the vision, and he pushes himself up, turning to see Cora moving towards him. “What’d you see?”

“How serious were Jordan and Laura?” Stiles asks curiously, kind of already knowing the answer. “Like, I know he asked her to marry him…”

“He did?” Cora blinks twice, breaking eye contact with him. Laura obviously hadn’t told _anyone_ about Jordan’s proposal, yet. Cora shrugs. “I guess they were pretty serious if they were going to get married.”

“Do you think he…?”

“What?” Cora gives him a hard stare. “Jordan wouldn’t do…” she trails off, looking as if she wants to slap him. “He wouldn’t hurt Laura.”

“Alright.” Stiles raises his hands. “Sorry I suggested it, but is there any chance? Any at all? That he could have…?”

“No.” Cora shakes her head. “Jordan loved Laura.”

“Then who could have visited your sister the night she died? Besides Jordan?”

“Me, Derek, Peter,” Cora lists quickly, ticking each name off on her fingers. “But Peter was out of town, Laura wasn’t talking to Derek for some reason, and I had work in the morning. And before you ask, _no_ , none of us hurt Laura, either.”

“Did Laura have any enemies? Any at all?”

“No,” Cora answers shoving her hand in her pockets. “She didn’t.” She pulls one hand from her pocket, brushing loose strands of hair out of her eyes. “Can’t we, I don’t know, retrace Laura’s footsteps? Find out, you know, what she did…” Cora trails off, looking at the ground. “What she did her last night.”

“We could try,” Stiles answers with a shrug. “I mean, I could also try touching her bed again, but I have a feeling your brother may literally kill me if I step inside Laura’s house again.” He rubs the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Where do we start?”

“Laura usually stopped at a small coffee shop before going to work,” Cora states already heading towards her car. Stiles glances back at Laura’s house, waiting for Derek to burst outside and demand he leave his sister alone, but when the older guy doesn’t appear, Stiles faces forward again and quickly follows Cora. But, as he gets in her car (and has yet another flash of some smarmy car salesman handing her the keys), Stiles has a feeling this isn’t the last he’ll see of Derek Hale.

* * *

Stiles, as a rule, tends to avoid cramped places. Too many people, too many ways to accidentally bump someone, and the last thing he needs is to see something that isn’t any of his business (like watching a guy give his boyfriend head, and he didn’t exactly appreciate the boner afterward). So, when he and Cora step into _The Beacon Bean_ Stiles knows he’s probably going to see some shit he doesn’t want to see (not that he doesn’t mind guy-on-guy porn, but usually it’s on his own terms).

The guy behind the counter (a tall, lanky man who looks like he hasn’t had a goodnight sleep in years) greets them with a head nod before asking, “What can I get you?” His nametag, Stiles reads, says _Isaac._

“Did you know Laura Hale?” Cora asks before Stiles could say anything, clearly about as blunt as her brother.

Isaac’s face seems to fall, sorrow in his eyes, but quickly he pulls himself together. He nods, drawing in a shaky breath, and darkly says, “She didn’t do what they claim she did.”

“We know,” Stiles and Cora say together. “Look,” Stiles continues stepping forward, carefully avoiding the counter, “we’re trying to retrace her footsteps, see if we can find any clues, figure out what happened. What was her state of mind the day she died?”

“She seemed distracted,” Isaac replies after a brief pause. “Like something was bothering her, but when I asked she told me it was nothing.” He shrugs, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He releases his lip a second later and says, “She did mention she had just come from seeing her uncle.”

“Peter?” Cora raises an eyebrow when the guy nods. “Did she talk about Peter a lot?”

“A few times.” Isaac shrugs again, toying with the braided bracelet around his wrist. “I got the impression she wasn’t his biggest fan.” His eyes flick to somewhere over their shoulders and he says, “Look, there are customers waiting, so I can’t talk now, but my breaks in twenty minutes.”

Stiles and Cora duck out of line, the latter heading towards an empty table, but before Stiles can follow her, someone knocks into his shoulder:

_Erica Reyes sat in the corner of the coffee shop, pretending to be pouring over Emily Bronte, while really shooting furtive looks at the guy who had just walked in. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a shaved head, wearing a flannel, jean, and work boots. A few times she nearly asked Isaac what his name was, but she always chickened out. She really should just get up and talk to him, but what happened if he rejected her? What happened if she suddenly had another seizure after three years without one? The embarrassment alone would be enough to drive him away._

Stiles is pulled from the vision, taking a step back from the blonde who had run into him, and hurries towards the door, throwing a quick apology over his shoulder. He pushes the door open, nearly running into a tall guy; the same guy from his vision.

“Sorry,” he mutters dodging the man, ducking outside. Indoors is really, _really_ dangerous.

“Let’s wait out here,” Cora suggests coming up behind him, and Stiles nods.

Isaac eventually joins them, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He offers Cora and Stiles one, but they both shake their head, and he shrugs, shaking one free. “Who are you two anyway?” he asks lighting the cigarette, taking a long drag on it.

“I’m Cora Hale,” Cora introduces first. “Laura’s sister.

“And I’m Stiles,” Stiles greets with a small wave.

“Friend of the family?”

“Something like that,” Stiles answers, and Isaac gives the shorter guy a curious look, blowing a plume of smoke into the air. “Where did Laura go after she came here? Did she go to work?”

“Uh, no?” Isaac shook his head, rubbing the side of his head with the heel of his palm. “She told me she was taking the day off.”

“Why?” Cora demands, her eyebrows furrowed. Isaac shrugs, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Did she mention where she was going?”

“Look, Laura didn’t tell me much,” he replies, a bite to his voice. “She ordered coffee, I made the coffee, and she left. That was the extent of our relationship. Sometimes she’d tell me small things about her life, the bare minimum, so I really don’t know where she went after she left here.”

Cora looks like she wants to argue, so Stiles quickly says, “Can you at least tell us which direction she went?”

“Left.” Isaac points with his cigarette before using his boot to put it out. “And my breaks over. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, but good luck.” He throws the butt into the garbage can and heads back inside, his shoulder barely brushing Stiles’, but it’s enough to send the shorter boy into another vision:

_Isaac awoke from another nightmare, sitting up in bed. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, turning to look at his alarm clock, taking in a deep breath. At least he’d gotten some sleep, more than he’s used to, but he also knew he wasn’t getting back to sleep tonight._

_He threw his covers off, getting to his feet, and stumbled out of his room, heading into the bathroom, flicking the light on. He splashed water onto his face, looking at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t believe his father had been gone for nearly seven years and the bastard still affected Isaac like this; it just wasn’t fair._

Stiles comes back to himself, lingering fear in his chest, and he glances back at Isaac who has already disappeared back inside. Clearly something went down with Isaac and his father, something that still left the guy scared, even after all these years. Stiles, from growing up around his father, knew about enough abuse victims to spot them. Isaac clearly hid his past well, but he couldn’t hide it from Stiles’ gift. No one could hide their secrets from Stiles’ gift.

Has he mentioned how much he hates this gift?

* * *

Derek lets himself into his apartment, dropping his mail on the end table next to the door. He closes the door, heading towards the kitchen, opening his fridge. He pulls a beer from the door, popping the top off, kicking the fridge closed with his foot. He moves towards his couch, sinking into the cushions, trying hard not to think about the look on Cora’s face before she stormed out of Laura’s house. He doesn’t ever want to see his baby sister look like that again.

Derek reaches for the remote, intending to turn the TV on, but his hand freezes when he hears a creak from behind him. Slowly, he puts his beer down, curling his hand into a fist. He turns quickly, intending to punch whoever had entered his apartment, but as he raises his fist his mind suddenly goes blank.

_“Find that physic and your sister,”_ a soft voice says, somewhere in the back of his head. “ _Find them and stop them. Do it Derek.”_ He nods, starting towards the door, leaving it wide open as he rushes out of his apartment, one thing on his mind:

Stopping Cora and Stiles.


End file.
